


The Recovery Prompts

by Usedtobehmc



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blood, Dubious Consent, Gore, M/M, Prison, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Spanking, Suicide Attempt, Vampire AU, Vietnam AU, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:33:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usedtobehmc/pseuds/Usedtobehmc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to not be so sad all the time so here are some stories I've written around prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'Nam

[ms-anony](http://ms-anony.tumblr.com/) asked:

Sniper's been sent to fight in Nam. Spy's already there. The rainforest is really dark and scary at night, and foxholes are not very big at all. It was probably just some animal that was making those noises. No need to assume. (hurt/comfort fluff, mildly exhibitionist smut, or war-is-hell level angst? Do anything, I just wanna read sniperspy >:3)

 

*******

 

Mostly everyone was asleep; it was safe to do this.  To indulge in a little closeness after weeks of hyper-masculine solitude.  At least for a few hours.  

Micky tightened his arm around Henri, securing their limbs underneath the barely-waterproof blanket around their shoulders.  It wasn’t raining, not really, but it was drizzling.  Honestly, it was a relief compared to the rainfall they’d been getting for the past 48 hours.  Drizzling rain was better than pissing-down buckets that got you wet to the bone no matter how carefully you’d dressed.  Micky dreamed of dry, warm clothes and of a cool, sunny day with no humidity.  He longed for the arid heat of Australia. 

The insects here sounded wrong.  It was fucking deafening.  

Henri shifted in his sleep and tucked his head tighter under Micky’s chin.  His fever hadn’t subsided yet, and they’d resorted to trying some old Australian bush medicine Micky knew.  Henri had fussed and smoked, but begrudgingly accepted the taller man’s attempt to help.  In the end it hadn’t made a difference.  His fever still climbed.  

Micky clutched his gun closer when Scout came stumbling across their sleeping area looking for a place to piss.  When the kid from Boston spotted the older men huddled against a tree, Micky curled a lip at him in warning.  

Scout either didn’t notice the obvious flag, or didn’t care.  “He still sick?”  He whispered over the din of the forest. 

“Not too well at all,” Micky grumbled, placing his palm gently on Henri’s forehead.  Burning.  

“Hey,” Scout smiled, shrugging.  “If he gets sick enough, they’ll send him to the hospital.  Maybe he’ll go home.”

A dark pit formed in Micky’s stomach and something sour crept up his throat.  “Hope so.” 


	2. Reunion

[knife-0f-dunwall](http://knife-0f-dunwall.tumblr.com/) asked:

SniperSpy prompt go! (If you haven't already gotten enough): When they first see each other again after having been apart for a long time. Maybe after a vacation, maybe after they both left the fighting??

************

 

There are two men hugging in the airport.  

You see this sort of thing all the time, it comes with the job.  You’ve tended bar here for the past five years, and not a day passes without a grandiose display of affection between someone who has just arrived and the person waiting for them.  The airport bar directly faces the gate, so you’ve got a front row seat to all sorts of displays.  Some people cry with relief, some people scream with joy, some people just grin from ear to ear and don’t say anything.  It’s usually happy.

The man who was waiting had come an hour early and sat at the bar, occasionally checking his wristwatch as time crept by.  Didn’t say much, but seemed like a nice man.  Tall, a bit on the skinny side, you suspected he’d have a nice smile if he bothered to try.  When he asked for a beer there was a hint of an accent, but you’ve never been real good at placing accents.  Seemed like kind of a gruff guy, but at least he had the manners to remove his hat and sunglasses when he sat down.  

“Waiting for someone?”  You asked when you noticed he carried no luggage.

The man took a moment to sip his ice-cold beer.  His other hand twitched nervously on the bar.  “Old friend.  Been 10 years.”

Fella didn’t seem much for talking, so you left him in peace.

When the sign at the gate was flipped, announcing the arrival of flight 178, the gentleman barely remembered to throw down cash before he abandoned his third beer and tentatively took a few steps towards the roped-off arrival area.  

You could tell from the gruff man’s change in posture that the person he was waiting for had just stepped through the door.  He straightened and suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands.  

The man who had just arrived was dashing. No, honestly, that was really the first word that popped into your head.  He was well-dressed, handsome and poised.  He held himself with a grace that was unhindered by the fact that he walked with a limp and a cane.  He looked to be that specific kind of tired that came from falling asleep during a long flight.  Yet his hair was immaculately combed, with streaks of grey here and there.  

The two men didn’t exchange words before they practically fell towards each other, only remaining upright through some benevolent will of god.  The taller man wrapped his arms completely around the body of his friend, holding him so tightly that you could hear the man jokingly gasp for breath.  The man with the cane let it fall to the ground with a clatter, opting instead to let his hands land on his companions neck and lower back.  

You notice that the taller man left his hat and glasses behind.  But you don’t dare interrupt.  

There are two men hugging in the airport.  It’s been a long time.


	3. Confession

[spookaburra](http://spookaburra.tumblr.com/) asked:

Sniper (of either team) makes a confession to Spy's corpse (of the opposite team) while he's waiting for respawn to pick it up. Turns out, the "corpse" isn't dead, and Sniper only realises this when it responds to him.

 

**************

 

“You’re so, hrk…  _sentimental_.”  

Sniper jumped back, heart slamming up to his throat.  He nearly fell over but a wall stopped him from going sprawling.  “JESUS christ!”

Spy’s entire chest cavity was compromised, but the slimy bastard still found the oxygen and will-power to chuckle.  

“You’re not  _dead._ ”  Sniper growled, ludicrously angry that the object of his no-longer-secret affections had the gall to still be alive.  

“Well, give me a minute.  Or find me my Medic.  Really, in your own time.”  A burble of blood escaped the corner of his mouth and slid down his cheek to soak his mask.  

“ _Shit_ ,”  Sniper threw his hat to the ground in frustration and took off out the door.  “MEDIC!”  How the hell was he going to get the enemy Medic to follow him and not kill him?

“Love you too,” Spy called out after him, but it came out only as a whisper.


	4. Bareback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an anonymous prompt

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows that.  Or rather, he’d normally never do this thanks to a set of high standards and meticulous health habits.  But tonight… oh tonight was too much.  

They’d had a night off and everyone decided to have a party.  The secret stashes of booze came out, music pumped through the intercom speakers, someone had managed to smuggle an entire box of steaks in, and they were all relaxed for once in their miserable, violent, paranoid little lives.  

They’d played a game of darts and arm wrestled, and their friendly banter settled nicely in his chest and made his face glow warmly.  Everyone told their best stories and there was knee-slapping, and friendly shoulder punches, and really everything was fine until he realized that Sniper had touched his knee…

…in that way, the way that Spy knew was a come-on… and his whole world took a nose-dive shift into _what the fuck_ territory, he’d never thought of Sniper in that way, never suspected for even a moment…

And the night had been so… perfect, that Spy allowed himself several moments of weakness right on top of each other.

He shouldn’t be doing this, but he leads Sniper away from the party after pocketing a small tube of lotion from the bathroom and shuts them both in a supply closet, swallowed up by the darkness and surrounded by a chemical smell that makes this seem somehow safe and yet exciting and unspeakably dirty.  They claw at each other, biting and gasping into violent kisses, quietly exchanging muffled laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

He shouldn’t be doing this, but he uses the lotion and prepares himself as Sniper rips off his own clothing, belt buckle clacking frantically as his pants drop to the floor.  He faces the wall and blindly pulls Sniper closer with an outstretched hand, gripping so hard that Sniper has three fingertip-shaped bruises on his hip later.  

He’s so out of his mind that he didn’t think to give Sniper any lotion, but bless the man, he took some for himself without being asked or prompted, and Spy is grateful that his embarrassed smirk can’t be seen in the piddly light coming from between the cracks in the door.  Sniper pulls him close with a strong, steel-like arm wrapped around Spy’s chest, snaps them together with the strength of a man who had lived a hard life and slides inside with a brutal, loving, perfectly slow push that makes Spy scrabble at the wall for a moment and go weak in the knees.  

He shouldn’t be doing this; Spy usually makes his lovers wear protection but he’s _weak,_ he just needed this so much, and he can feel _everything_.  The feel of skin sliding against his most sensitive of areas is so intoxicating and there’s nothing between them, Sniper is around and against and inside of him all at once.  He can feel Sniper’s naked hips against his ass with every thrust inside, he can feel the beginnings of a full-body sweat on Sniper’s body every time they touch.  Sniper leans forward to bite Spy’s shoulder and a bead of sweat from his temple lands on Spy’s cheek.  They are of one body, a single continuous blend of skin and sweat and limbs.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows this especially when Sniper growls and licks his ear, holding him tighter when Spy flinches from sensitivity, preventing him from pulling away, forcing him to feel it and deal with it.  Sniper angles his hips and pounds away at Spy’s ass like he’s proving a point; Spy presses his lips closed to stifle a whine and feels Sniper’s cock inside him, twitching and straining as they come.

He shouldn’t be doing this, but he doesn’t want it to be over.  He knows he’ll need this again.  The closeness, the intimacy, the _skin_.   


	5. Rimming

“Don’t fight me,” Sniper hisses, slamming Spy’s wrist back down to the floor.

“Sick, disgusting, miserable, wretched, _va te faire foutre, enculé!”_

Sniper chuckles as he finishes pulling Spy’s pants down and out of the way, keeping his foot firmly planted on the back of Spy’s head and maintaining the effective, full-body pin of his enemy to the ground.  “Didn’t catch that, mate.”  He gives Spy a firm pinch on his now-bare ass.  

“I will remove your eyes, your teeth, each one of your bony fingers-” Spy threatens, face red and sweaty, body tight as a bowstring.  

“Leave me my tongue, then?”  Sniper murmurs and leans down close, giving a good, long lick between Spy’s cheeks.  He makes an animalistic sound and his eyes roll back in his head.  He was sick, yes, but he enjoyed this too much to care.  He nosed his way in closer, careful to move with Spy’s bucking hips and gently pokes and circles with his tongue.  He continues through Spy’s keening and struggling, lazily lapping again and again like a child with a sweet.  He teases and prods and drools over his prey until his craving has been sated.  

He bites Spy’s right ass-cheek before he lets the man go, a parting gift.


	6. Prison

“I swore I’d never be a prisoner again,” the new guy spoke low and with a French accent.  

Micky didn’t like to be interrupted during his nap, but peeked out from underneath the rim of his hat only to realize that his new cellmate didn’t even appear to be talking to him.  The man stood facing the tiny window barely as wide as his forearm and didn’t so much as cast Micky a sideways glance for the rest of the day.

***

“So what landed you in here?” Micky asked on one terribly boring day.  

The stranger who only went by the name Red didn’t look up from his tray of prison food.  “I killed a man.”

“No shit, everyone in this wing killed somebody.  Who’d you kill?  Why?” 

“You’re awfully nosy.”  He sneered, spearing a piece of “meat” on his fork.

“Fuck it then, what do I care.”  Micky tipped over Red’s water glass as he passed by.

***

Two weeks went by and they didn’t say a word to each other. 

***

Micky was woken from a deep sleep by the strange sound of fabric being torn.  Peering down from the top bunk, he saw his cellmate tearing his bed-sheet into thin strips and fashioning a crude rope.  Through a fog of sleepy confusion, the realization hit him.  

Micky sat up and launched himself off the bunk and to the ground, startling the piss out of Red, which he noted with a small degree of satisfaction.  

“Bushman-” he warned,a harsh look on his face.

Micky snatched the ruined bed-sheet out of the mans hands, pausing only a moment before tossing out the barred front of their cell, out of arm’s reach.  

He could see the boiling hot fire of rage bubbling up in the Frenchman’s eyes but didn’t shrink away.  “If you wanna die, I’ll kill you myself.”  He hefted himself back up into his bed.  “But it won’t be in this hellhole.  It’ll be on the outside, where real men fight.  Deal?”

There was a long, sullen silence below him.  “Deal, Bushman.”


	7. Deep Pressure

 

 

Spy had just been on the cusp of falling asleep when he realized that Sniper was shifting every two minutes on the other side of the bed.He hadn’t noticed it as first, but as his body slowed and became heavy with fatigue, it was jarring enough for him to notice every time.With a imperceptible sniff, he turned on his side away from Sniper and refocused on clearing his mind.Today had been long and involved, and he was impatient for a good night’s rest.

 

Shift.

 

Twitch.

 

Adjustment of blankets.

 

Shift.

 

…

 

Shift.

 

“ _Bushman_ ,” he growled.“Please stop what you’re doing so I can _sleep_.”

 

“Sorry,” came the quiet response.

 

It was the lack of bite that made Spy feel a twinge of regret for his tone.He rolled back towards Sniper, making a conscious effort to soften it this time around.“Is something on your mind?”

 

“Nah, I just…” Sniper pressed the heel of his palm into his eyes and shifted again, leaning up on an elbow.“The blankets, my clothes… everything is makin’ my skin crawl.It’s not allergies, before you ask.”

 

“What is it, then?It’s not the sheets, they’re Egyptian cotton.”

 

“I don’t know,” Sniper collapsed back again, pushing the blankets down to his waist and scratching at his arm absently.“Too cold to sleep naked, but it just…” He made a vague but intense hand gesture.“I don’t want anything touching me, it’s drivin’ me mad.”He sat up and yanked his t-shirt off over his head, throwing it to the floor without a second glance.“Maybe I had too much coffee.I dunno.Feels like ants or something, you know?Crawlies up and down my skin.”

 

Spy considered the symptoms.His mind turned the problem over, and he assessed all the information he’d observed regarding Sniper for the past 24 hours.“Will you let me try something?”

 

Sniper shrugged, rubbing at his legs in a way that suggested he was considering taking his pants off and freezing through the night to get some relief.“What you got in mind?”

 

“Lie down,” Spy said gently and got up from bed to fetch an extra blanket.It was a specific one he was looking for; thin but heavy, meant to be more decorative than for sleeping.He found it in the back of his enormous and meticulously organized walk-in closet and pulled it free, testing the weight of it in his arms.“On your front,” he corrected when he walked back in and found Sniper laying stiffly on his back, covers now banished to the foot of the bed.

 

Sniper obeyed and Spy put the blanket, still folded, across the man’s back, leaving everything above his shoulders and below the curve of his lower back still exposed. 

 

The marksman let out a somewhat confused but still appreciative moan of approval when he felt Spy’s hands roving across his ass, squeezing each cheek through the fabric of his pajama pants and continuing around to caress his prominent hipbones on either side. 

 

Then, shockingly, a firm open hand landed swiftly on his buttocks, making him jump.“Oi,” he protested softly.“Trying to sleep, remember?”

 

“Trust me,” Spy cooed, getting comfortable next to his lover.“This is much more relaxing than most would believe.”He landed another firm smack to Sniper’s ass, then another, then another.Each spank was always followed by a quick caress to soothe the ache in preparation for the next.

 

Sniper lay silent at first, no doubt entirely confused as to what Spy could possibly be going for.He gathered a pillow closer underneath his head and settled into the welcoming softness, trying to ignore how the skin on his neck bristled and itched in response.But as the spanking became more rhythmic, he somehow began to appreciate it more.The solid, satisfying feeling of being spanked was having a strange effect on the rest of him.It was arousing, yes, but only slightly.More than anything, it started to become comfortable, satisfying even.The deep, reverberating smacks seemed to touch him right down to the bone, and his whole body vibrated with each one. 

 

Soon he noticed that his skin was no longer crawling; the phantom itching had subsided completely.He felt only the powerful ache radiating from his abused backside, the beginnings of an erection that he felt oddly fine with ignoring, and the increasing heaviness of his limbs.He really was quite tired.His eyes drifted closed.

 

Spy was enjoying the effect this was having on Sniper; the grumpy Australian was a sub alright, Spy would swear upon his mother’s grave.And he’d use this night as exhibit A in his slowly growing file of evidence.With every heavy slap to his ass, Sniper made a small noise.A soft, involuntary, almost adorable noise of appreciation.A hum of approval.Spy drank that sound in and memorized it for later.The noise started to come once every two slaps, then once every three, until they eventually stopped altogether.Spy stayed his hand, waiting for some kind of reaction. 

 

None came, save for the soft breathing of a man in a deep sleep. 

 

 

 

 


	8. Nosy Teammates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was TWO YEARS old, but I never delete inspiration!!

“Have you fucked yet?”

Sniper choked on a sip of beer in the messiest of fashions: it came back through his nostrils and sprayed the ground in front of him.  “Fuck-kk-ing HELL,” he sputtered, nose burning.  “You did that on purpose.” 

An accurate accusation, judging by how Scout grinned and made no attempt to deny it.  “Have you?”

Sniper leveled a hard gaze at him, and if Scout was blessed with good sense, he would have shrunken away from it and sought shelter.  

“You can tell me!”  Scout cracked open a fresh beer and scooted closer, as if to receive the secret.

“My  _ass_ , I can tell you.  You are the worst bloody gossip on this base.”  Sniper sat back on the couch and got comfortable, steadfast in his decision.  

“I think you have.” Scout smirked, undeterred.  When met with silence, he prodded further, watching Sniper’s face for even the smallest of twitches.  “And I’ll tell you HOW I know,” Scout propped his feet up on the coffee table in front of them.  “You two are always like, touchin’ each other.  In little ways, cuz you’re tryin’ to be sneaky about it.  Like the other day: Spy said, ‘ooooh good game  _man amee_ ’ and he like, brushed your shoulder.  I ain’t never seen Spy touch anyone else here unless it was to punch ‘em or stab ‘em.  Ooh, and then yesterday you lit his cigarette for him.  Real delicate-like.  Straight outta the pictures, man.”  

Sniper remained silent, iron-solid poker face still in place.  

“That’s how I know.”  Scout smiled.  “Definitely fucking.”

“You are bloody hopeless.”  Sniper downed the rest of his beer and reached for the next.  

********

“Right then, you are done.”  Medic made a final note in his chart and motioned for Spy to put his shirt back on.  “Perfect health, as usual.  Despite those cigarettes…”  He glanced at Spy over the rims of his glasses, disapproval dripping from his voice.  

Spy rolled his eyes and tucked his shirt into his pants, idly wondering why physicals were even necessary, given the machinations of the respawn system.  

“Well, now that formalities are concluded: are you and Sniper  _schtupping_?”  

Spy groaned and reached for a cigarette.  How could anyone expect him to quit under these conditions?


End file.
